We Don't Need No Plan
by St. Harridan
Summary: The Eleventh Division doesn't need a plan to survive.


Ikkaku lowered himself to the ground, absently touched his fingertips to the soil. The scent of blood and rotting corpses filled his nostrils, nearly suffocating him. It was only to his credit that he was an experienced shinigami. A normal citizen from the Rukon would be throwing up something nasty by now.

"How many do we still have left?" he asked, eyes fixated on the path ahead.

"Three," Yumichika replied without even a glance at the rest of the squad. Ikkaku could always count on him for the latest info about the team. Whether one was hurt, down or dead, Yumichika would be the first to know and give Ikkaku a heads-up. Always he appeared calm, as if their casualties didn't bother him, but now Ikkaku could hear the worry in his tone.

Ikkaku himself couldn't see the end of the tunnel for this mission. Digging deep into the heart of the Rukon forests to hunt for hollows was like setting oneself up with a death sentence. Ikkaku was sure that they were now in one of the hollows' nesting grounds, the smell being more overwhelming, thick and heavy with death and laden with spiritual pressure.

But it wasn't like he was starting to regret ever offering himself up for this mission. Regret was for pussies and weak dicks who couldn't stand up for themselves and face reality like proper shinigami. His captain wouldn't be too happy either if the squad returned with a half-finished task in hand and their tails between their legs.

Ikkaku turned around to look at his squad members. He had picked a handful of the best shinigami from the division. Captain Zaraki had told him to take as many as he needed, said that it would be good for the brat because she decided on sleeping in this morning. But Ikkaku leaned more towards quality than quantity.

Now that decision he was starting to regret. His arrogance had only cost the squad the loss of their best members. Now the remaining shinigami, a man named Nakanishi….something, stood firm with a glint in his eyes that Ikkaku knew all too well. He could almost be considered an old man now, undoubtedly older than the captain, but even through the blood that bathed him, he looked all the more eager to get the fights going.

"C'mon, young'un," he flashed Ikkaku a bloody grin, showing a small hole in the right side of his mouth where a tooth had gone missing in the recent scuffle with a hollow, "don't tell me ye're scared after all that's happened."

"I ain't scared," Ikkaku snapped and turned back to the path ahead of them. It was empty, devoid of anything but clumps of trees and bushes on either side, but Ikkaku knew what lurked within the depths of the forest. "There's only the three of us. We need a plan, or we'll die."

"We don't need no plan, Madarame," said Nakanishi as he stumbled forwards like a drunk, his zanpakuto held before him in a tight, white-knuckled grip. "We just need ourselves and our trusty blades and that's 'bout it."

"That's a death wish," Yumichika said, glancing at Ikkaku. "We can't be rash during times like this. Our deaths depend o-"

The sudden burst of spiritual pressure cut Yumichika off short.

"What the fuck is this I hear 'bout a fuckin' plan, eh?" They heard him before they saw him, and then he was right before Ikkaku's eyes, sporting one of his notorious grins. Ikkaku knew that look well. It was a look that showed that things were going to die a rather horrid death.

Kenpachi grabbed Ikkaku by the front of his uniform and pulled him up to his feet without much effort.

"Plan? When the hell have I ever taught ye 'bout plans, eh?" He spat in Ikkaku's face, and Ikkaku could see the murderous gleam in his one-eye all too clearly. A shiver ran up his spine; he restrained the urge to swallow. "The Eleventh don't need no plan. See, even that old bastard over there knows." Kenpachi let him go, dropping him to the ground where he landed on his knees, and turned to Yumichika. "How many do we got?"

"Three, captain. One fell a ways back, another two d-"

"Who gives a fuck?" Kenpachi snapped, smacking Yachiru's hands away from his spikes. "Now ye got four, so what's there to be scared 'bout, ye asswipes?"

"_Five_, Ken-chan!" Yachiru slapped him on the forehead, pouting. "There're _five _of us here!"

"Four only, brat," he growled. "Ye ain't leavin' my side. I ain't lettin' ye fight even if ye can beat the shit out of that Aramaki prick any time ye want."

"But Ken-_chan_!"

"_Fine_!" Kenpachi turned on his heel with a scoff. "_Five _of us. There, more than enough to take out these weak ass bastards."

Ikkaku could only watch as his captain walked away from them and into the very heart of the nest, and in the next second all he could hear was the screaming and shouting and feel the heat of blood splattering onto his skin. The smell was more than overwhelming, but that wasn't what suffocated him. As his captain whizzed through the hollows, sliding his blade through them like a knife through melted butter, he could hear his laughter. A chill shot through him, the bloodcurdling screams of the hollows as they fell apart at Kenpachi's nameless zanpakuto.

And then Yumichika was beside him, blocking a fatal hit from a hollow.

"So what's the plan?"

Ikkaku opened his mouth to answer, to tell him that he didn't know shit anymore, the chaos screwing with his mind, but at the all too familiar squeal from his lieutenant, he clamped his mouth shut. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as Kenpachi drove his blade through a hollow's middle, Yachiru hanging onto his shoulder and cheering him on.

And then, without even waiting for the hollow to fall, as if he knew that it was already dead by his hand, Kenpachi shot off to engage another one. On and on he went, swinging his blade here and there and everywhere. Killing as the instinct blazed throughout him.

Ikkaku faced Yumichika and, with a grin, ran the edge of his unsheathed blade along his tongue.

"We just keep killin' till we can't kill no more. How's that for a plan?"


End file.
